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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339883">as many candles as possible</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosy/pseuds/kosy'>kosy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blaseball (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bittersweet, Established Relationship, F/F, POV Third Person, Post-Season/Series 11, i simply. think there are parallels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:21:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosy/pseuds/kosy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What a pair they make, small and curled together in the dark, both of them left behind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaylen Hotdogfingers/Sutton Dreamy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>as many candles as possible</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi all! this kind of functions as a companion piece to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203971">oceanographer's choice</a>, but i'm not going to ask you to read all 19.3k words of that unless you want to; this stands on its own, don't worry. all you need to know is that in this world, dreamy and jaylen were together in s1 and got together again after jaylen was resurrected at the end of s6. title comes from the mountain goats' "as many candles as possible". hope you enjoy this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s the absence Sutton notices first. And for a moment her heart drops and her stomach hollows out and she thinks— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s okay, it’s all okay because Jaylen’s still there, just perched at the edge of the bed. Her back is turned and her head is dropped forward against her chest, but she’s still there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Sutton croaks, then clears her throat, lifting her head up off the pillows. “You alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaylen jerks unnaturally like she’s been shocked, breathing in so sharp it sounds almost painful. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” she asks again, pushing herself half-upright onto her forearm. The action is blurred. Hazy, only half-present. She reminds herself she is real. Real enough to play blaseball in the morning, real enough to speak now. Real enough to move and comfort and matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaylen takes a more even breath and lets it out. “Yeah, I’m. I’m good. Just.” She lifts her head but still won’t look back at Sutton, just stares at the sliver of Baltimore that she can see out through the gap where the curtains don’t quite meet. Sutton hasn’t moved out to Hawai’i yet. Doesn’t think she ever will, no matter how many pitying glances the Fridays give her when they think she isn’t looking. Nagomi and Montgomery haven’t left either. Maybe she’ll invite them out to lunch tomorrow. They’re all still holding out hope, she thinks, that everyone might still come home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keeping her movements carefully slow, Sutton shifts across the bed to sit just behind her and lifts a hand to press between her shoulderblades. She can feel the movement of lungs, the rise and fall. Irregular, worryingly so, but again: still there. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s all you can ask for, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she reminds herself. It’s so much more than she thought she’d ever get to have again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m—it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaylen says, voice full of a self-loathing so fierce it almost makes Sutton flinch. She’s tired of flinching. “It’s so stupid, I just—” She laughs, and it sounds angrier than any laugh has a right to be. “I’m not the best pitcher in blaseball anymore? And somehow it’s like—</span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> what’s fucking me up the most after all these years. After everything. Not the blooddrain, not the crows, not the shells, not getting feedbacked over and over, not the black holes, not the second sun, not the Coin, not the goddamn resurrection, not even fighting the gods twice. It’s the fact that I’m not the best pitcher in the league now. Yeah, I’m still </span>
  <em>
    <span>good,</span>
  </em>
  <span> comparatively, but I’m not, like—I’m not Figueroa or Wilcox or Patterson, you know? I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it,” she says, not really getting it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you don’t,” she mutters wearily, then adds, “It’s fine, though. I don’t blame you. I said it was stupid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> it,” Sutton insists, stubborn. “Like, that’s the most tangible change, right? Out of everything, that’s what’s most. There.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.” Jaylen leans back into her palm, acquiescing, and sighs. “Sorry.” She’d said it before, over and over, especially in the months that came after her return: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just leave me, Sutton, I can’t do it but you have to,</span>
  </em>
  <span> as if the tether to her wasn’t long since wrapped around her wrist, as if Sutton didn’t tie it there herself years ago, as if this wasn’t just useless self-flagellation instead of a real solution. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I won’t be angry. I want you to be happy. You deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span>— Fuck that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If we want to fix this we’re gonna fix this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sutton had said. So that was it. Jaylen had put up a token fight afterwards, but it hadn’t lasted long. Sutton wasn’t as soft as she used to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be.” She scoots closer until her chest pressed against her spine, and she lets her hand fall to loop around her waist. “I’m not gonna—” She sighs, rests her forehead against Jaylen’s hair. “I’m not going to get mad at you for, I dunno, having feelings about all the shit we’ve gone through. Especially since you got resurrected into—you know. All this.” Jaylen doesn’t say anything to that, and Sutton doesn’t push at it. When she’d heard about the idolboard, about what the fans were trying to do, she’d halfway wanted to make them stop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let her be. Just let her be.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t think Jaylen had been at peace. It’s unlikely that there’s any peace in this game at all, even beyond the grave. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rest in violence, </span>
  </em>
  <span>right? But to bring her back into a world like this, it didn’t feel like rebirth. It didn’t feel like love. It was cruelty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just that that’s why they brought me back,” she mumbles. Sutton can see Jaylen’s eyes if she tilts forward enough, and they’re still fixed straight ahead, dark and hazy and unfocused. “They brought me back to be the best, and I’m...” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re still so good, though,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she nearly says, but that’s the problem, of course. She's good, but not as good as she used to be. Good, but it took her two tries to bring down a god. Good, but her pitches go wild. Good, but not good enough to be released from this place. Good, but not good enough to justify— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can go out to the batting cages tomorrow,” Sutton tries. “Nobody...” She shudders out a shadow of a laugh. “Well, nobody will be at the Crabitat, that’s for sure. You can try and strike me out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chuckles, rough and low in her throat. “Not worried about me hitting you with a pitch?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and I both know that won’t happen unless you want it to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lying down in the mouth of a wolf. It barely registers. Not that it would make a difference these days if Sutton did get hit. There was a time when Jaylen’s pitches meant fire or loss or repetition. Now they just hurt. But the old threat still lingers, the memory of the fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Jaylen says quietly after a moment. “I know.” They both stay silent for a little while, looking out the window but not really seeing. “Will it even help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will what help?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Batting cages. Has anybody really improved since the beginning? Like, without blessings?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can’t hurt to try.” Never helped her, but what else is there?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She breathes in and out. Maybe practicing. “Okay.” Another breath, let out on a long sigh. “Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun won’t be up for hours, but sleep feels laughably out of reach. Not that either of them were expecting a restful night in the first place. Just going through the motions. There was a hopeless sort of comfort to it, brushing their teeth and changing into sweatpants and a soft t-shirt and sliding under the sheets like they’re still real people, like they still need this. Who knows. They probably do. It’s just that what they need doesn’t make much of a difference these days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun won’t be up for hours, and they don’t go back to bed. Jaylen lets herself fall back against Sutton’s chest and she moves to rest her chin on Jaylen’s shoulder and closes her eyes, lets the side of her head tilt against hers. What a pair they make, small and curled together in the dark, both of them left behind. It’s quiet out. No birds are singing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fans are already stirring, probably. Getting on buses and trains, climbing into cars, making their long, inevitable pilgrimage to the stadiums around the country, even though they won’t be open again for years. Sutton tries not to think about it. Their endless presences and chants and screams. Some days she wishes she could play for a quiet crowd, wishes she could hear her cleats hitting the hard-packed dirt as she ran the bases. The crack of ball against bat is so deafening in a silent stadium. It sounds whole in a way little else has these last few years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can hear Jaylen breathe now, the gentle rasp of it. That sounds whole too. She wants to believe it’s whole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you feel tonight?” Jaylen murmurs into the soft dark. Sutton imagines she can hear waves crashing against the docks in the distance, too. Gentler than crashing. More like rushing. That was always a nice sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know.” She wishes there was a more helpful answer she could give, but there isn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods. “Here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough,” Sutton whispers. Not a dream but a person. Tangible. Holdable. “You?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough, yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad,” Sutton says into the side of her neck after a pause just slightly too long to really connect, and Jaylen makes a questioning noise, shifting back. “That you’re here, I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’d hope so,” Jaylen says wryly, not missing a beat. “All things considered.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorts in spite of herself but wraps her arms around her tighter anyway. “I know. Just. I wanted you to know that I don’t regret any of it. To remind you that, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence, then: “It isn’t your place to forgive me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” Sutton says, and it’s true. “But I’m still here. And I still want you here.” No matter how much blood is on Jaylen’s hands, no matter how much she is deified and how much she is hated. She still wants her here, in her arms and in her home and in her bed. It feels sacrosanct, untouchable, but of course the holy is the enemy in this world. One day everyone will run out of old gods to fight, and they will turn to the ones they have created. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’ll want her here then too. There’s nothing else left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading! you can catch me on tumblr <a href="https://www.fourteenthidol.tumblr.com">@fourteenthidol</a> for blaseball stuff (also you are legally required to tell me if you write dreamyjaylen because i love them), and i really really treasure comments and kudos if you'd like to leave any! thanks again &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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